


A Cold Wind of Past Lovers

by Confused_Host, FeralCoffeeBug



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Pale Jester AU, Pale jester is having a t I m e, White lady loves her husband but she’s tired, hollow knight au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confused_Host/pseuds/Confused_Host, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCoffeeBug/pseuds/FeralCoffeeBug
Summary: “Your name,” he said, voice quiet.This was a bad idea, this was a horrible idea, he should stop, he should stay away. Or tell the master. Or-“You know who I am… So, out of curiosity, I demand you tell me who you are.” How strange of him to wonder. Very rarely did he care for another’s name. The troupe had little time for connections. It was as if a part of him thought that she knew a part of him that he, himself, did not.
Relationships: The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	A Cold Wind of Past Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> The Pale Jester au belongs to @Chipper-smol on tumblr. This was a part of a big telephone event we had done! This was part 9 out of ten so if you want to see all the art and fics then look up telephoneknight on Chippers Tumblr

The leaves of the healthy brush blew lazily in the soft breeze, uncaring for the events that would transpire in the middle of the clearing. Light left bright splotches of colors splattering across the dirt flooring. The two in the clearing were locked in an intense gaze with the other. The gardens silent before a soft voice broke the silence, her words digging deep grooves in the jesters heart that left him more confused than anything else he could quite remember.

 _“I know you,_ ” the woman he recognized whispered. “I know you, and I have _missed_ you so much.”

She knelt down, pressing her head to his, hands coming up to curl around him. “I’ve missed you so very much, my wyrm.”

The white shelled bug felt roots curl around him in such a familiar way, as if calling out for him; as if searching for something that was lost long ago. He couldn’t place where these new, strange feelings were coming from, though tears slipped down his face. Absently, he recognizes that he should feel something more when looking at this odd creature.

Before he could stop himself, his hand had grazed her cheek, before he jumped in his shell and flinched away. The creature's expression shifts from a soft and happy smile to unreadable.

"I… Apologies, I do not think I know you-" His voice is a tad higher pitched than usual as he steps away from this strange creature. 

“You are my _wyrm_ ,” she whispered, putting emphasis on a word he didn’t know, but recognized so clearly. 

The Jester laughed, the sound echoing throughout the large clearing, as it was all he could do when faced with this _idiocracy_. “I am not a _worm_ ,” he said, ignoring the lump in his throat. “I _am_ the jester to the Grimm Troupe, and that is what I’ve always been.” 

The woman looked down upon him as if she could see through his soul. “And yet you are so familiar to me,” She whispered, pulling one of his arms into her palm. “You look much like my husband,” she explained, running a delicate hand over the fabric of his sleeve. “Four arms, like him. Your mask, like his.” Her voice could have lulled him to rest. 

She pressed a finger to his crown. “A crown of horns.” She peered down at him, white eyes blank from any emotion. “Much like his.”

His migraine that had been just shy of being a bother, broke through the barrier. 

"I am not your husband." He stated with a certainty he didn't feel, even as his throat tightened around the ball from before. Was he even breathing anymore? "I already told you! I am the jester of the Grimm Troupe, that is what I shall always be. It's what I have always _been_." He couldn't keep the distaste out of his voice as his eyes narrowed at the lady in front of him. 

The look that crossed the White Lady's face made some part of the Pale Jesters' heart yearn to reach out and comfort her, yet after a moment the feeling seemed to be erased from existence. He pulled his arm out of her grip and stepped away from her. Every step away made his heart call out in pain as he kept one of his hands to his chest. 

(The Jester didn’t like how he noticed the tension in her knuckles around her fist and felt a need to stop and please her. He didn’t like how he saw her lean forward and wanted to move to meet her, to cup her head in his hands and whisper something, like a small secret between them, _like lovers would._

_He didn’t like how he knew her without knowing her.)_

He stopped, a ways away from her, yet close enough to feel too close. Close enough to talk.

“Your name,” he said, voice quiet.

_This was a bad idea, this was a horrible idea, he should stop, he should stay away. Or tell the master. Or-_

“You know who _I_ am… So, out of curiosity, I demand you tell me who _you_ are.” How strange of him to wonder. Very rarely did he care for another’s name. The troupe had little time for connections. It was as if a part of him thought that she knew a part of him that he, himself, did not.

And perhaps there was a part of him that wanted to listen to that little call. 

Her voice was almost a breath of wind, all too soft yet noticeable nonetheless, “You have called me _your_ White Lady." The name she gave him echoed in his head, burning him. Her eyes had a twinkle of hope, a soft shimmer, and below that, something deeper that the Jester couldn't place. 

Her expression turned crestfallen when he had yet to speak. She sounded on the verge of tears, her voice shaking and oh so quiet in the wind that he almost didn't catch her words,"I... _Oh, my love_ , whatever did he do to you? Why couldn't you have simply come to me instead?” 

Any sort of sympathy the Jester held for her disappeared, eyes wide with hurt shock as his heart, beating side by side with the Nightmare heart pulsed with rage. “ _Come to you_? For what? For _assistance_? For _help_? For _freedom_? To get me out of a situation that I am _perfectly fine in_? I do not _need_ you,” The Pale Jester roared with a voice that felt less like his than ever and yet more like his than he could remember. “I do not need you. I do not know you! I have never met you before and I have never been here before-” 

_Lying, you’re lying, stop lying_ -

“All I need,” the jester hissed, words low, tired, forced. “Is my master.” 

The white lady didn’t make a sound for a long moment. The silence that fell over the clearing was suffocating as the Lady stared at him with what could only be described as disbelief and hurt. Her light eyes looked over what had become of the man she loved. She felt sick.

"Is..." A hard swallow,"...Is that what you truly believe, Pale one?" There was a harshness to her voice, the tone falling cold in a way that only put him on edge. She felt the sadness wash over her, however she couldn't show that here. Not yet. 

_No_ , The Pale Jester thought. 

“Yes,” he said, voice leaving little room for argument. “I am of the Grimm troupe and I don’t-“ He choked on a sob, but pushed it down. He was a jester, and jesters do not cry. “I do not need anyone else.” 

The white lady stood to her full height, and the Pale Jester froze as she towered over him. 

“Then why did _you_ come to _my_ gardens,” she took a step forward. “Why did you come to _me_...” The Jester took a step back, “if you do not need me.” his chest clenched with fear of what she might do, mind screaming at him to scramble away, yet he was frozen in fear. 

The root stepped forward, softly cupping his face and leaning her face next to his own. Her soft voice, filled with pain and care, whispered into his ear," _Come back to me my wyrm_." She closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to escape. 

She missed her husband, it was clear. From her soft tone that trembled, yet still held so much love, to the tight squeeze around the Jester’s mask, not enough to be painful, but from a need to hold on to something, someone. Even if it was just a scrap of the man she missed so dearly. Her palms curled around his face in such a familiar way. In a way that, at one point, must have filled someone with comfort, and yet all the Jester felt was fear.

He shuddered, trying to keep as still as possible. It was cold. He was cold in a way that felt so familiar, and yet it gripped him in ice claws and froze him to the core. “Please,” he whispered, taking a step back, a step away from her and her warm hands. “What’s wrong with me?” He bent down claws gripping the sides of his head. “Please...Please, I just want to know what’s wrong...” 

The While Lady had taken some paces back, and her gaze had hardened. If the Jester was cold before, then white flash of mortification that ran through him only served to make him freeze. 

" _That is for you to find out. Return to me when you are finished playing this **game**_."

And with that she was gone, and the hole that started worrying itself in his heart only widened. His gaze followed her retreating form without a word escaping him. He watched her walk away as tears raced down his face, and even the burn from the Nightmare Heart was not enough to warm his cold heart.

The pale jester tucked his head in, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. (Not a sob, no, not a sob. Jesters do not cry.) _It’s not funny_ , _**none**_ of it is, and yet he cannot stop. His chest hurts as he cackles, he feels numb. Still, he continues.

_There’s nothing else for him to do, anyway._

**Author's Note:**

> Confused_host and I had a lot of fun writing this! It was a nice thing to write and honestly I enjoyed it immensely. The Pale Jester Au is so fun to write.


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